


Lassiter Rising

by SerpentineJ



Category: Psych, Supernatural
Genre: Another spn/psych fic, Crossover, F/M, M/M, yup
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 06:56:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3640938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpentineJ/pseuds/SerpentineJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Supernatural/Psych crossover bit; Shassie, modeled after Destiel. Starring psychic bounty hunters Shawn and Gus and angels Lassie and Jules.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lassiter Rising

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: So I saw thepocetartist’s Shassie/Supernatural work and couldn’t help myself. Shawn and Gus are psychic (just Shawn on that one) demon bounty hunters (you might recognize psychic bounty hunter Shawn from my Shawn/Cain work Oh Honey :D), Lassiter is the angel who saved Shawn from Hell (but doesn’t particularly like him), and Jules is a lower tier angel with a fondness for Lassie. (As Gabriel would say; Shawn, starring as Dean, Gus, starring as Sam, Lassie, in the role of Castiel, and Jules, with a modified script of Hannah.)
> 
> They’re not Cas and Dean, but they have a similar meeting story. (Shawn’s not Michael’s vessel or anything, and Gus definitely isn’t Lucifer’s.)
> 
> And yes, the title is a “Lazarus Rising” pun. :D 
> 
> So this is a multi-chap fic; it’ll be 5 chapters. (And I’ll actually try to finish it.)

“What the hell, Shawn!” Gus shouts into his phone. “You woke up in the middle of a field?”

Shawn huffed and looked around. “Yeah, middle of a pretty burnt-out field, nowheresville. No weapons, no nothing. Would you please come get me?”

His partner is silent on the other end.

“…buddy?” He says again. The line is still connected; Gus just isn’t speaking.

There’s a stifled sound from the tinny speaker. Almost like he’s…

“Gus, are you crying?” Shawn asks, guilt welling up in the pit of his stomach; the kind he feels whenever someone starts crying while talking to him, though he doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. “Dude?”

More sniffling. “… you were dead, Shawn.” He huffs, sounding choked, and one downside of Spencer’s gift is that he gets a flashing image of his best friend, his partner in crime, his brother in all but blood, with red-rimmed eyes and a broken will, tears streaked down his cheeks. “Like, dead-dead.”

The psychic sighs into the phone. “I…” He hesitates. “I don’t know, man.” The sun warms his back, wonderful after months of damp, blood-soaked cells and humid, sticky air, rife with the screams of the dead and the jeers, cackles, taunts of the demons…

He shakes his head, clearing out the thoughts like water from his ears. “I’ll tell you everything if you come get me.”

Gus sighs, already sounding nearer to his old self. “Yeah, alright, Shawn.”

“And you’d better bring pineapple upside-down cake!”

~~~~~~

“Mate spiritus obscure.” Shawn recites, peering at the text. Henry tosses the remainder of the herbs into the brazier and the smoke winds through the air, flickering flame lighting the old barnhouse and throwing the sigils painted across the walls into sharp relief. 

The wind begins to howl.

“Mate spiritus obscure.”

Shingles begin to fly off the roof; Henry glances up, concerned.

“Mate spiritus obscure.”

Thunder rumbles through the air as Shawn finishes the chant, and crackles of electricity hum through the atmosphere, charging it with tension; a gale whips up the debris on the floor of the old farmhouse and the double doors blow open, lightning striking intimidatingly.

A silhouette is framed in the flashing white.

It begins to approach them, completely unaffected by the warding that Shawn and Henry set up, and that means it’s not a demon and that’s good, right? The overhead light begin to blow, one by one, and the sparks flying from the bulbs serve only to make the scene more chaotic.

Shawn squints; the figure appears to be a man, tall, lanky, wearing some kind of trenchcoat. Henry blasts him with the shotgun, but to no avail: he continues to advance, walking slowly, and as the storm and the lights begin to sputter out the man comes into clear focus.  
He’s pale, though not vampire pale: Shawn was right about the lanky part, he thinks, but his hair is short and dark, peppered with silver, and his eyes are an astonishing blue. The trenchcoat is tan, heavy-looking and long, and he’s wearing a white dress shirt under it, along with an inside-out, loosened blue tie and-

“Dude, is that a gun holster?” Shawn blurts, knife in hand.

The… creature scowls at him. 

He shakes his head. “Wait… more importantly, who are you?”

The other man looks at him, still frowning, a glint in his eye that Shawn can’t put his finger on. “I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”

“Yeah, thanks for that.” Shawn says, plunging the demon-killing knife into the other’s chest; it has no effect, and the creature pulls it out, glaring.

Henry swings a crowbar at his head from behind, but he swivels with incredible speed and grabs it, wrenching it away and pressing the pads of his fingers to Henry’s forehead. The elder Spencer goes slack, eyes rolling back in his head, and falls to the floor; Shawn immediately starts towards him, but the pale man stops him with a freezing look.

“We need to talk, Spencer.” He casts a meaningful look towards Shawn’s dad, slumped on the ground. “Alone.”

~~~~~~

“Again, who are you?” Shawn questions, picking up his knife again. “You’re not a demon, or a wendigo, vampire, shapeshifter, werewolf …or, hell, anything else I’ve ever seen.” He pauses. “Unless you’re a mutant, in which case, you have got to introduce me to Professor Xavier.”

The other frowns. “No, I’m not a-“ He sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Just my luck to get a moron.”

“Hey, who are you calling a moron, Mr. Stickman?” 

“Just shut up.” The man says. “I’m Carlton Lassiter, an angel of the Lord.”

Shawn pauses. “Wait, an angel?” He cocks his head, taken aback. “You’re kidding me.”

Lassiter looks at him, gaze dead serious. “I can assure you, I am not… kidding you.”

“Angels?” The psychic chuckles. “There’s no such thing.”

“And that,” Carlton growls, “Is your problem, Spencer. You lack faith.” There’s a crackle of lightning, flashing electric blue and white, and Shawn’s eyes widen at the silhouette of wings unfurling on the wall behind the angel: he stares, mouth agape, and Lassiter scowls.

~~~~~~

“Dude.” Shawn whispers, dramatically, into the cell phone. “Angels.”

“Wh-Shawn!” Gus shouts, and the noise blares from the tinny speakers. “Angels? It was an angel that brought you back?”

Spencer props his feet up and takes a swig from his beer. “Yup. Bona-fide angels, man.” He pulls his laptop to his lap, cradling his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he brings up his login. “I took a picture and everything; I’ll email it to you.”

There’s a pause.

“Did you take a selfie with the angel, Shawn?”

“Yes, yes I did.” 

Gus sighs. “I can’t believe you.”

Shawn grins at his best friend’s tone. “What? He was hot!” He types ‘angel, lassiter, carlton’ into the web search box and scans the results. “And grumpy.”

“Yeah, I know. He doesn’t look to thrilled in this picture.” Shawn can practically hear Gus rolling his eyes. “Damnit, Shawn. What have I told you about hitting on non-humans?”

“Oh, Gus.”

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: So, yeah. I don’t know about the characterization in this one; mainly Lassie is giving me trouble, ‘cause I’m trying to reconcile his character with Cas’s… let me know how I did? :D


End file.
